The man from Baltimore tried to deny this story, saying he had reached Fort de France from La Guayra that morning, but on being searched some jewelry which the negroes identified was found in his pockets. He was at once marched off to the local jail, there to await trial, the natives following the gens-d’armes to see that the prisoner did not get away. “It will go hard with Markel,” said Darry. “Robbery under such circumstances becomes a double crime.” “In some countries such looters would be hung,” answered Professor Strong. “You may depend upon it that Markel will get the full penalty of the law.” “This will please Hockley,” came from Sam. “He was always sorry the rascal got away. I wonder if Hockley is still up at the hotel?” he continued. “I shouldn’t be surprised if he got out of Fort de France when that shower of dust and stones came,” returned Mark. “He was scared to death as it was.” A short while later found them at the post-office asking for letters. Owing to the general disorder it was half an hour before any mail was handed out. The first communication proved to be from Hockley, and was addressed to Professor Strong. It was short, and had evidently been written while the youth was in an excited frame of mind. It ran as follows: “DEAR PROFESSOR: It looks now as if this island was doomed and I don’t propose to be burnt up or be drowned. There is a steamer sailing from here to Port-of-Spain, Trinidad, and other ports in South America, and I have secured passage. If I stop off at Port-of-Spain you can look for me at the hotel at which we stopped before, and if I go further I will leave word in a letter at the post-office. Have cabled my father to send necessary money.” “I knew Hockley wouldn’t stay,” said Darry. “I’ll wager he was almost paralyzed with terror.” And he was right. Hockley had acted so thoroughly scared that he had made himself the laughing stock of all, both at the hotel and on board the steamer on which he had secured passage. It was to be some time before they would see their tall traveling companion again. CHAPTER XXXIII A HAPPY MEETING--CONCLUSION The letter from Hockley read, they waited patiently until some mail matter which had just come in should be sorted out. This took the best part of an hour--a wait which to Mark and Frank seemed an age. But at last the little window was opened once more and the crowd surged forward. Professor Strong was well to the front and presently they saw him turn from the window with half a dozen communications held aloft. “Letters!” cried Frank. “Oh, if only they bring good news!” The professor was soon beside them. There were letters for all, but just then the interest was concentrated on a communication addressed to Mark and another addressed to Frank. Both bore the postmark of Kingstown, St. Vincent. “My father’s handwriting!” cried Mark, in a trembling voice.